Kidnapping Kris Kringle -an Elf Story
by bundysbaby
Summary: 2018 Elf story in my continuing series! Enjoy!


A/N - I'm a bit late this year! Hope you had a great holiday season and Happy New Year!

 **60 years ago…**

He learned not to fight back. It just made everything much harder. He was small for his age, slight of build, and a blonde to boot. Everything about him shouted "Target!"

The absolute worst, though, was the moniker with which is parents saddled him. K-R-I-S. Okay, not the more mundane Chris or Christopher. K-R-I-S. Kinda unisex, but hey, there were other famous male Kris-es.

It was the surname that they paired it with.

Kringle.

NMN – no middle initial. Just plain old Kris Kringle.

What were his parents thinking?

They might as well have called him _Sue._

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For the umpteenth time this year, in middle school where the testosterone was beginning to run rampant, Eddie Swenson and his gang of miscreants were shoving him into a locker, right there in D-Wing. It didn't matter other students were traversing the dull granite floor to get to their next class.

Nobody wanted to get on Eddie's last nerve. That was a bad, bad thing.

Kris suspected that Eddie was just one big bundle of constant, irritated fibers and that he, Kris Kringle, was the catalyst to tip Eddie right over the edge.

Simply by breathing the same air.

"How you doin', Santy Claus?" Eddie's big, goofy grin exuded pure evil. He reached out a meaty paw, and bam. Kris hit the metal lockers face first.

Kris grit his teeth as the bigger kids surrounded him. His dad, Jonah (nice, normal name, thanks dad) tried to teach him to fight back but fighting back just made it worse.

"Yeah. How you doin', Santy Claus? Santy Claus. Santy Claus." Robin Kepichek, a lieutenant in Eddie's band of boys, parroted his leader.

Kris knew better than to answer.

"Your mama needs to feed you more, Santy. You ain't never gonna drive them reindeers with those sticks." Eddie pinched Kris' arm, hard. Kris lost his grip on his book, giving the guys a perfect excuse for an impromptu game of soccer.

Kris closed his eyes. At least they were just kicking his Social Studies book around, and not him.

Bruce Carlson, football coach, and Athletic Director, heard the commotion and stepped in. "What's going on here?" He demanded an answer from Eddie Swenson. He knew he wasn't going to get one from Kris Kringle, who looked miserable as all get out. The kid was too terrified to even look up.

"Nuthin." Eddie looked the coach directly in the eye and lied.

"I don't think it was nothing," Carlson stressed. "Are you all right, Kris?"

"Yessir." The voice was directed at the floor.

Carlson sighed. He knew the boy was having a rough time of it. But this little hamlet in Minnesota was a football town, and Eddie was the star of the team. The school board would get rid of him before they would allow Eddie to be suspended or expelled. "Pick up your book and get to class."

Carlson watched as Kris scuttled down the hallway and turned his attention to the bigger boys. "All of you. Detention Thursday."

Of course, there was major grumbling and dissent. Not one of the gang thought it was their fault that old Carlson gave them detention.

It was all that Kris Kringle's fault.

And that led to another punch to the gut on the way home.

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The summer between the end of eighth grade and the beginning of ninth grade changed Kris Kringle's life. His parents, worried about the constant bullying and the inward direction of their beloved and only child, sent him to his grandparents' farm for the entire summer.

Truth to tell, Kris wasn't averse to the idea, although he made the usual rebellious dissent. He needed to get away from this town and the Swenson gang.

Pop was getting on in years, as was Mom-mom. They were thrilled their grandson was coming, not only for the chance to get to be with him but for the cheap labor. That summer, they really put him to work. The fields needed tending, or the animals did. Fences to be mended, hay to be hauled; the relentless upkeep of the farm and its outbuildings brought home to Kris why his dad was eager to escape the constant grind of it all.

Kris fell into bed each night, completely exhausted. The first week, his muscles ached so bad, he thought he might be paralyzed for life. Mom-mom, though, had some magic liniment that she smoothed on his legs and shoulders that helped a lot.

And man, he was hungry! Mom-mom still made everything from scratch while he and Pop worked around the homestead. There were huge, delicious breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, all appearing just when he thought he couldn't do another thing.

All this good food, sunshine, hard work, and the love and warmth of his grandparents had a stunning result. Kris began to grow and fill out. Mom-mom tsked about how many times they had to run into town for new jeans or shirts because Kris had grown out of them.

He left town a skinny, almost delicate kid, barely five foot five. When he returned, his own parents didn't recognize him at the airport. Kris was nearly six feet tall, would grow another three inches along the way. His hands were work-roughened, and it was obvious he was in excellent physical condition.

Along the way, he developed into a kind, caring man. The sort of guy who would lend a hand to a neighbor, the shirt off his back to a homeless person, or give you his last five dollars. There was no more bullying, of course, since muscles rippled on his well-developed arms.

College was not for him. No, he preferred working with his hands, crafting beautiful, hand-made furniture and toys. Along the way, he met and married a sweet woman. Shelli Kringle, nee Roberts, was as compassionate as her beloved husband.

They both loved children. It was to their sorrow that they never had any of their own. Instead, they adopted the children, first in the town, then in the county. A child never went to bed hungry or without if the Kringles could help.

Over the years, Kris grew a slight paunch, and his hair and thick beard went completely white. When a young child called him Santa, he was galvanized by it. It wasn't the hurtful Santy Claus of his childhood, but an adoring expression from an awe-struck child.

He became Santa. Kris was the Santa in the sleigh during the Christmas Parade in town; the Santa who handed out homemade toys to the youngsters sitting on his lap at Christiani's Department Store. He delivered toys to hospitals, sick children at home, and embodied the spirit of the season all year long.

Of course, he was aided by Shelli, who was a lovely Mrs. Claus.

A week before Christmas, Kris donned his red suit, kissed Shelli, and told he'd be back at 10.30. He had a sick child to visit and duty at Christiani's. She watched as his red pickup emblazoned with a sleigh and reindeer skin fade into the horizon from their long driveway.

When 10.30 arrived, she wasn't too worried. If the line were long, he'd stay at the store until it wound down. When 11.30 arrived, Shelli felt a tiny pang.

She called his cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. If he was still at the store, he might be busy. Holding a slender hand against her heart, she dialed the store. "Daisy? It's Shelli Kringle. Is Kris still there?"

The switchboard operator frowned. "Shel, Kris left about 10.00. He isn't home yet?"

"No, I thought perhaps he was working later." Panic began to rise. "Oh, my heavens, I hope he wasn't in an accident."

Daisy heard the tremble in Shelli's voice. "Maybe he went to see a sick child and forgot to tell you."

"No, we have a schedule set up. It's too late for him to be making visits. I'm going to call Bobby and ask him to check it out." Bobby McFagan was the Chief of Police and a good friend.

"I'll make sure he's not at the store or in the parking lot. He may have decided to stay and shop or something." As Daisy disconnected the switchboard, she contacted security and the store manager.

"Kris never made it home, and Shelli is beside herself," she explained. "Can you check the store and parking lot to make sure he's not still here? She's calling Chief McFagan."

Five minutes later, Walter Swenson was making his own call to the police. "Chief, security just reported that Kris' truck is still in his parking spot. The door is open, and his keys are on the ground as well as his Santa hat."

"Have your security keep people away from the area." Bobby McFagan sighed. Things did not look good right now for Kris Kringle.

And there was no way he was going to call Shelli Kringle with this worrisome news.

888888

Justin Michael Frayne was sulking in his room. It sucked being part of a large and boisterous family. Especially when you had devious brothers like Jamie and Alexander. You couldn't count in the twins, Bailey and Finn, or Kim because they were too young.

Besides, Kimmie was a girl. Not that it mattered since Mama and Aunt Honey were really cool detectives, but Daddy treated Kimmie like she was made of one of those statues Mama loved. You know, the ones with the red-headed little boy and the blonde-haired little girl kissing.

The one that he, Jamie, and Alexander broke playing Storm Troopers vs. Jedi Knights in the living room where (1) they were not supposed to be playing; (2) he took a mighty swing at Jamie with his lightsaber; and (3) Alex pushed him, Jamie dove out of the way and they all tumbled into the cabinet with Mama's stuff.

Ergo, it was almost Christmas, and here he was, grounded, in his room, as were Jamie and Alex. It wasn't fair! He climbed up onto his window seat and stared into the night sky.

Maybe Santa wouldn't even leave him one measly thing.

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Command Central up at the North Pole (or N.P., as the residents called it) was humming. Santa was stationed at his bridge, as he called it, viewing the huge screen in front of him. Millions of children were being monitored for naughty or niceness. It was also being fed into a computer, but Santa liked being hands on.

Every so often, Martha Claus would bustle into the room bearing sustenance. Santa munched at the delicious cookies and hot cocoa but gave them little thought. His attention was riveted on the occurrence in Minnesota.

Somebody kidnapped Kris Kringle.

Oh, Santa only kept tabs on the littlest ones, but there were those special people he followed into adulthood. Trixie Belden Frayne was one of them and her family. In fact, you could say that she was the Official Detective for the N.P.

Her family, too.

Kris Kringle was another person he checked in on from time to time. Santa was flattered by Kris' transformation into a real-life Santa Claus. He applauded everything the man who had not one selfish bone in his jolly, round body, did.

It was good P.R. for him.

One fat finger mashed down on the red button labeled 911. A stentorian voice was heard all over the N.P., and the elves, reindeer, and polar bears glanced at each other and nodded. They knew what was coming next.

"ELMER! Get your green butt in here!"

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Elmer Elf, Grand Poobah of the Elf community resident at Santa's workshop, was startled awake by Santa's strident tone. It was the first time in days he was getting some sleep that wasn't punctuated by sneezes, coughs, or mountains of used tissue.

"You are not answering that summons." Erin Elf bustled in with hot, homemade candy cane soup. Peppermint balls bobbed in the broth. "You're sick, Elmer. You just stay in that bed, and I'll call Santa. Eat your soup. It's good for you."

Elmer raised his pathetic, red-rimmed lime green eyes to his wife in gratitude. "Thanks, Erin," he said, hoarse. Santa wouldn't be as… well, salty with Erin. Elmer sighed as he lifted a spoonful of the restorative chowder to his lips.

Even though Elmer was married with three daughters, Santa still hadn't forgiven him for that long-ago after Christmas party when, imbibing too much Patrón and muddled candy canes, he made inappropriate remarks about the delicious Martha Claus.

Or maybe they both had fallen into roles. Elmer shrugged his thin shoulders. Sleep was already beckoning him back.

"He's sick, Santa," Erin was relaying over the intercom. "Fever, chills, blowing his nose and all that. He has a nasty virus."

"I need him in Command Central!" Santa's voice was tight, revealing his frustration.

"I'll send Ernie, his brother."

Santa grunted an assent and terminated contact. Ernie was better than nobody, even if he was Elmer's brother.

Santa turned back to the big screen.

Somebody was about to get on his naughty list!

888888

Kris Kringle had a violently pounding headache. It went well beyond jackhammers and into hydrogen bomb detonation. Even opening his eyes just a little bit meant excruciating pain.

Kris tried to piece together just where in heaven's name he was. The last thing he remembered was getting into his car after his shift at Christiani's. He certainly wasn't at home in his soft bed with Shelli snuggled to his side. No, he was on a hard surface, like the ground, a floor, or a hard pallet.

He groaned a little and tried to move his hands and feet. He couldn't! They were bound, and whatever kept them attached was digging into his skin every time he tried to free himself. After a few moments of exertion, he was out of breath and sweating.

One thought kept running through his foggy brain: _Who would want to kidnap Santa Claus?_

888888

Ernie Elf did not envy his brother's important job. Not one little bit. He was proud of Elmer for becoming the Exalted Leader or whatever title he was trying out this week. Elmer was fair with the elves, polar bears, and even those hoity-toity reindeer, who thought their poop didn't stink because they pulled Santa's sleigh.

Wrong!

The only downside was that (a) Santa became real grumpy from September to December 25th, and (b) it was also elf mating season, so Elmer had to deal with all the canoodlings at the busiest time of year. Nope, he didn't envy Elmer's responsibilities at all.

The door to Command Central whooshed open, and Ernie scooted inside, as fast as his little legs could carry him. He was a bundle of nerves in the presence of the Big Kahuna, so to speak, and his jingle bells were jingling.

Madly.

Santa turned to face the elf. There was a certain family resemblance, maybe it was the particular shade of Ernie's lime green eyes, but Elmer was thin and wry. Ernie was, well, the most charitable way to describe him was robin-shaped.

A rotund body and stick thin legs.

"Is your brother really most sincerely ill?" Santa demanded.

"Honest, sir. He caught a bad cold from the Christmas Seals. They were goofing around, and Elmer ended up getting dunked in the frigid water."

"He should know better than to play with those jokers. Well, that's neither here nor there. We have a situation."

"Sir?"

"Kris Kringle has been kidnapped!"

"But… but… aren't _you_ Kris Kringle?" Ernie's brows knit together like a long, red, furry caterpillar. "You are still here." Maybe the old guy was going senile.

Santa sighed. It was obvious who received all the brains in the family, and it wasn't the guy standing in front of him. "Yes, I'm Kris Kringle, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Old Saint Nick… but I'm _not_ the Kris Kringle who was kidnapped."

"Oh. So, somebody _else_ named Kris Kringle was kidnapped." Ernie's brain synapses fired on eight cylinders.

"Yes, a man from Minnesota who looks very like me."

"Why did was he kidnapped?" Ernie's lime green eyes gazed into Santa's blue ones, wide with inquiry.

 _OH boy. This was going to take a while._

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Kris Kringle from Minnesota was able to roll over to a nearby wall and skootch himself into a sitting position, even though he was blindfolded. Although the room was chilly, he was sweating with the effort. No one came in or out of the room, and he heard no voices. He bent his legs and rested his arms against his knees.

 _It can't be for money. Shelli and I aren't rich. We're doing okay, but we could never afford a ransom. Could it be personal? I don't know anyone who doesn't like me._

 _I need to get out of here._

888888

Justin Frayne was wandering through the preserve that his Grandpa Matt owned, scattering feed for the animals that resided there. Even though he, Alex, and Jamie were grounded forever, they still had to do their chores. They each had a section of the preserve that was theirs to tend. Nothing too far from home, but large enough for a kid to learn a sense of responsibility.

And learn all about the natural world in real time.

It just wasn't fair.

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"Why are you telling me all this, Santa?" Ernie was trying to decipher just what his boss was trying to say.

"I need you to find out what happened to Minnesota Kris and get him back home. There are going to many disappointed children if we don't help."

Ernie's eyes grew so wide, they appeared to be huge lime green saucers in his face. "M… me?" he spluttered. "I wouldn't know where to begin, Santa. I'm not smart like Elmer or think that Mrs. Claus is a hot babe…" Ernie clapped his hands over his errant lips and looked mortified. This was heightened by the bright green blush on his chubby cheeks.

"Yes, you. You're smarter than you know, Ernie. Of course, I will arrange for you to have some help."

Ernie relaxed, just a wee bit. Help. That sounded nice.

"You and Comet will be traveling to Sleepyside, New York. You'll meet a young man, Justin Frayne, who will be happy to go off on an adventure with two such dashing residents of the N.P. Now, let me call Comet, and I'll give you all the information that has been discovered."

Meanwhile, Elmer Elf was coughing, miserable, and feverish in his bed at home. Even though Erin was making him gallons of candy cane soup, he wasn't getting better fast enough.

 _I just hope Ernie can do what Santa asks. Or it's going to be_ my _butt._

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Justin scattered the last of the grain and turned toward Ten Acres when he heard a sort of crashing sound in the woods. He stopped and slowly turned back. Daddy and Mama taught them to never run, just stand still if a bear was nosing about. He just hoped it wasn't a catamount.

His heart was beating a thunderous rhythm when the creature finally broke through the underbrush. _Oh, it's just a reindeer with an elf in a saddle._

 _Wait. What?_

Justin blinked his eyes and looked again. The reindeer and passenger had gotten closer, and they were arguing.

"We almost _hit_ that tree, Comet!" The elf's squeaky voice sounded like he inhaled a shi… boatload of helium.

The reindeer turned and glared at the elf's foot. "I'm a, Ernie. I've been with Santa for years."

"And _Rudolph_ is still leading the team," the elf snarked in return.

"Yeah, well, he does have that glowing, red honker." It stung, just a little, because he, Comet, was the captain of the team until that blizzard.

Ah well. A good team player must take one for the team sometimes. Comet noticed the young boy standing stock still up the path. "Hey, are you by chance, a Justin Michael Frayne, son of Trixie Belden Frayne and James Winthrop Frayne II?"

Justin eyed the duo with a narrowed green gaze. They were strangers, at least the little guy was. Comet, well, he was familiar with the poem and the stories. "What if I am?" he challenged. He knew almost every inch of this preserve – well, except the Labyrinth. They were all forbidden to go there.

Ernie slid down Comet's front flank and landed on his rear end. He arose, rubbing it, secretly glad it was pretty well cushioned. "I'm Ernie Elf. Santa sent us to get you and take you to, um, Minny… Minny…"

"Minnesota." Comet rolled his soft brown eyes.

"Why would Santa want me to go to Minnesota with you two? And why me?"

"A man named Kris Kringle was kidnapped, and Santa said we need someone with good detective genes to find him."

"That's my Mama. She and my Aunt Honey are excellent detectives. Not me. I'm just a kid."

"Your brother _Jamie_ helped Santa once. I bet if you asked him about it when we get back, he'd tell you all about his adventure at the N.P." Comet had children of his own, and he knew about sibling rivalry.

"N.P.?"

"North Pole."

"Jamie went to the North Pole? How come _I_ only get to go to Minnesota?"

"Because that is where Santa needs us. Are you coming or not?" Ernie was getting impatient.

Besides, he was hungry and thirsty, and he wanted nothing more than to be home eating double-dipped chocolate chunk cookies with a chaser of Jolly Rancher punch.

"I guess so. How are we gonna get there?" Justin eyed the way back to Ten Acres. He should tell Mama and Daddy where he was going, but… if Jamie went, he would, too.

"Just help me up on Comet's back, and he'll take us. He has RPS." Justin made a cup with his two hands and helped Ernie up.

"RPS?"

"Reindeer Positioning System," Ernie answered as Justin climbed aboard. In a twinkle, the trio was airborne, flying through the clear night sky.

888888

Just when Justin was brave enough to open his eyes, they skidded to a stop in a parking lot by a small-town department store. Snow was falling. Lazy, fat flakes drifted down from the night sky, just taking their sweet old time about landing. Justin could see some yellow crime scene tape flapping near a light pole.

"Is this where it happened?" he whispered, his eyes big and a slight tremor in his voice.

"Yeah," Ernie responded. "I don't know why we're here. It just looks like a big empty space to me."

Justin was just about to agree when his Mama's voice rang out in his thoughts. _"Perps think they clean up after a crime, all of them do. Some are better at it than others. But, you leave something as you take something. It could be as definitive as DNA, or it could be as small as diatoms from the water you walked through."_

But Mama, he bickered with her voice, the police were already here.

 _"And since when did that stop Aunt Honey or me, Justin? Open your eyes and see what someone else may have missed."_

"What 'zactly happened?"

"The Kris Kringle who lives here was Santa Claus in that store. He was getting in his car and was taken, and nobody saw it," Ernie explained.

"Nobody," Comet verified.

Shoppers were coming and going, but no-one was giving them a second look, to Justin's amazement. After all, it was not every day you saw an elf, a young boy, and a talking reindeer in a parking lot.

"How come they don't notice us?"

"It's me," Comet said. "We reindeer can give off a stealth mode. That's so kids don't wake up when we land on the roof. And grownups? Most of them don't believe, anyway."

Justin frowned at that. "My mama and daddy do and…" he glanced into the sky at the snow and spotted something odd. "Look. Up there. It looks like someone broke the security camera in this part of the lot."

"Hop on and let's go check."

Comet was hovering next to the camera as Justin examined it. Not that he was experienced in camera destruction, but even he could tell that someone took out the lens with a rock. Pieces of it were still wedged in the lens.

 _"Hmmm."_

"Hmmm? Hmmm? What does that mean?" Ernie's voice rose. He was tired, he was hungry, and he just wanted to go home.

"Well, this camera is pretty far up on the pole. That means the guy who threw the rock is probably a grown-up. My brother Jamie is a real good pitcher, and even he couldn't throw this high and hit the lens. And that means the guy is probably is a good pitcher, too."

"But that still doesn't answer why," Comet interjected. "Or who."

Justin thought for a long moment. Mama always said that you had to think like a criminal to catch one. "So, the guy who kidnapped Kris Kringle maybe wants some money."

"No. Santa said that Kris does okay but is not wealthy or anything like that. Santa said that Kris helps children and adults throughout the year with money and gifts."

"If money is not the object, then the guy has some beef with Kris. Like maybe he feels Kris cheated at a card game or stold something."

Comet dropped his head. They were getting nowhere, fast. "Everybody loves Kris, in this whole county."

"Not everybody loves everybody all the time," Justin's voice held a note of wisdom. "Sometimes I don't like my brothers or sister at all. Especially older brothers who get you into trouble all the time."

"I know about older brothers," Ernie concurred, his green eyes darkening. "Mine has to be the best at everything, plus getting on Santa's last nerve. It makes it harder for all the rest of us elves."

"Yeah."

Comet snorted, impatient to get back home to the N.P. and begin gorging on Martha Claus' special, magical cookies. They were a once a year treat, and all the reindeer loved them.

Even that snotty old red nose, Rudolph.

Although he was trying hard, Justin felt like crying. Jamie helped Santa, and maybe even mama and daddy helped, but he couldn't. Then he heard Daddy's voice in his head. _Never give up, guys. Maybe you won't get there in the way you wanted to at first. And maybe it will take a lot longer than what you thought. You'll never get to the finish line if you quit in the middle of the race_.

And Justin knew Daddy was right. Daddy never gave up, and neither did Mama.

And he wouldn't either.

"If the guy was a pitcher or something like that, I bet the best place he could hide Kris Kringle would be somewhere he was familiar with. Like a, a locker room at a stadium or a dugout at a field."

Comet rolled his eyes. "No stadiums around here. This is small-town America, Justin. Stadiums are in big cities like Minneapolis."

"Maybe _professional_ stadiums," Justin said slowly, his brain running with his hypothesis. "But all towns have a stadium at the high school, even if it's only a couple bleachers. And it's Winter Break for the holidays."

"Nobody would be around," Ernie mused. "How are we gonna find a stadium around here?"

Comet stamped his front hooves in frustration. "RPS, guys. RPS." For just a moment, his antlers crackled as he homed in on the nearest field. "Let's go."

The town in which Kris Kringle resided was too small for its own facility. However, there was a large regional high school that served the rural county.

And it had a decent-sized football stadium with an attached locker room.

Comet circled the field, checking for any signs of human habitation before landing near the building. "No cars in the parking lot," he yelled back at his passengers before making a rather rough landing.

"Bruising my tush," Ernie griped. "I thought you said you are a _professional_."

"Professional sleigh hauler, not a professional beast of burden," Comet shot right back.

"Guys. Be quiet," Justin cautioned. They crept up to the padlocked door. The light snow could not hide of all the twin furrows in the ground. "Looks like drag marks from somebody's heels. I don't know how we're going to get in there with the padlock on the door."

"Stand back," Comet commanded. He turned and kicked at the metal object with his powerful hind legs and hard hooves. With just a few well-aimed jolts, it broke off, flying to one side in a tangled, metal mess.

"Nothing like approaching the possible scene of a crime quietly," Justin groused. _Sheesh. These two would never make it in Mama's and Aunt Honey's agency._

Justin eased the door open, hoping it wouldn't announce their arrival with ear-splitting squeals, but they were lucky. They eased into the damp, dark locker room that smelled faintly of mustiness and old sweat.

He reached into his pocket and brought out his small flashlight, thrilled it hadn't fallen out during his impromptu flights. The sharp beam of light cut through the murk as they searched for Kris Kringle.

"It's no use," Ernie complained. "He's not here. And we'll probably get arrested for breaking and entering. Or at least you will, Justin."

The boy with the green eyes and red-gold hair, a legacy from both his parents, didn't pay the elf much mind. He was busy examining another door. The faded lettering on the panel said _Coach_. He noted there wasn't a sign holder anywhere near the door with the name of the current coach and deduced that the office was probably moved to the main building at some point.

Or, maybe it was just used during the season and closed afterward.

He pushed the door open and stopped, his sharp beam of light picking out a rather large man, blindfolded, with a bushy white beard. He was dressed as Santa - and for just one little blip in time, Justin thought he was Santa. The man flinched when the door opened and tried to push himself up, but his hands and feet were bound.

"Hey, hey," Justin's voice echoed in the empty room as he crossed over to the man in the dirty Santa suit. "My name is Justin Frayne, and I think you are Kris Kringle." He pulled the blindfold from Kris' eyes, kneeling to try and get the zip ties off his arms.

"I am Kris Kringle. How on earth did you find me? You're just a little boy." Kris' voice felt old and rusty.

"Santa sent me, Ernie, and Comet to find you," Justin said. "My mama is the world's best detective. I guess I learned a little from her. Who kidnapped you?"

"I don't know, Justin. The person stuffed a rag with chloroform in my face before I could react." Kris glanced over at the elf and reindeer. "Thank Santa for me. And yes, I can see you," he twinkled. "I still believe."

"I can't get these off," Justin said in frustration. "Wait! Mama told me what to do! Put your palms together. I'm gonna make these real tight. When I say go, raise your hands up over your head, the swing them down real hard and keep your elbows open. Okay?"

Kris raised an eyebrow but agreed.

"One, two, three!" Justin shouted.

Kris brought his arms down in a mighty swing, and the ties broke apart. "That was pretty darn cool, young Justin. I'm afraid it won't help with my ankles, though."

"I can help with that," Comet declared. He stepped up and bent his head. "Slide one of my antlers through the zip tie and…"

"Well, ain't this just _purty_. Santy Claus and a little boy. How did you get here, kid?" Eddie Swenson stepped into the room. He didn't see Ernie or Comet at all.

Justin's eyes went wide, and Kris was stunned. "Eddie? _You_ did this to me? Why?"

"I'll tell you why, Santy Claus. You think you're a big deal in this county, all high and mighty. _Everybody_ loves Kris Kringle! I'm sick of hearing your name and reading about you." The man kicked at Kris' boot. "All my glory days are gone. I ain't the quarterback anymore. I'm just a guy scrapin' by."

"I don't understand how you think kidnapping Mr. Kringle will help you," Justin felt brave enough to say.

"Oh, it ain't helpin' _me_ , kid. It's hurtin' _him._ All those sick kids he's supposed to visit before Christmas ain't gonna see him. Parents will get angry at him. And he won't be Saint Nick anymore."

"Of course, he won't," came a booming voice from the doorway. "I'm Saint Nick. And you, Eddie Swenson, have been on the naughty list forever." Nicholas Claus' annoyed voice rumbled through the room. "You made a miscalculation, Eddie. Care to tell him what it is, Justin?" He smiled at the awe in the youngster's face. _Man, it never grew old_.

"Well, I guess people would feel sorry that Mr. Kringle was kidnapped," Justin said slowly, hoping he was saying the right thing. "They wouldn't be mad. They would want the kidnappers put in jail."

"Right. Don't think you're going anywhere, Eddie." Santa warned as Eddie began to slink towards the door. Comet blocked his way.

"Where the heck did this reindeer come from? And who the heck are you?" He turned to Ernie, noting his pointed ears and jingle-belled shoes.

In the distance, the group could hear the wail of a police siren. "I guess the police received an anonymous tip as to where Kris was located," Santa smiled. Martha done did good! "Let Eddie pass now, Comet. He'll be found soon enough."

Eddie Swenson rushed out into the night, pretty darn sure he was never gonna touch another bottle of Maddog. _Ever again_.

"Thanks, Santa," Kris beamed at the real one. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, it was Justin here who solved the mystery. And we need to leave you before Chief McFagan gets here."

"Thanks, Justin. And I know you had help from Ernie and Comet. Thank you, all of you. See you up at the N.P. after the holidays, Nick. Give Martha my love."

"Will do." Santa took Justin's hand and led him out of the building. All the excitement began to press down on him, and before they made it back to the sleigh, he was sound asleep.

888888

Mama came to see him in his bed, to say goodnight and have a little talk. "You know what, Mama? I learned something today."

Trixie Belden Frayne sat on the bed next to her second-oldest son. She brushed back that one unruly red-gold curl and felt the bed shift a little as Jim sat behind her. "What was that, honey?"

"I'm a pretty good detective. And I learned anything is possible as long as you believe. In Santa and in yourself."

"That's a fine lesson, Justin," Jim grinned. "I hope it means you won't be getting into trouble with your brothers!"

Justin grinned back at his daddy, knowing full well that wasn't a promise he could make. The world was full of exciting things! "I know I will always believe in me and the things I can do. And Santa."

Trixie patted his hand. "Goodnight, Justin." She bent over to kiss him, and just as she did, she heard the faint stamp of reindeer hooves on the ceiling and flicked a glance to Jim. "Looks like the Frayne Kids Detective Agency had another successful case with the N.P.," she whispered.

"We'll talk in the morning," Jim said to his son.

Justin watched his parents leave his room, hand-in-hand.

 _Yeah. I believe._


End file.
